Trash

It’s the smell that never

quite goes away when

bathing.

That stink,

Like trash,

Not sweet, nor innocent

anymore.

A stench, a rot, my womb,

My vagina just rotting.

It’s not a sweet place

down there.

No fluffy down, just coarse,

Brittle, like brillo.

Not neat but dense, swarthy,

An overgrown patch of

weeds.

It protects and gaurds.

Keeps things, people, fingers

Out.

It lets no one in.

Keeps the stench alive.